


The Joy to Come

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Finding Joy (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2.0) [5]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2019, Time Travel, gwen bat being snarky...again, hackle being partners and generally being wonderful together, in which we see some explanation for hecate's timepiece after season three's weird detail, week five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-08 04:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20313829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: When the Great Wizard enlists Hecate's help in ensuring the Academy doesn't accept anymore girls from nonmagical families, Ada decides she must go forward in time to see how to handle the situation in the present.A familiar face is waiting for her, ready to guide her in the right direction.Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2019. Week Five: Time Travel.Story 5/6.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, homes. This is a series work. It's gonna be a lot easier to understand if you go back and read the others first. But you do you.

Gwendolyn Alarice Bat was precisely too old for anyone’s shit. And she was _far_ too old for this shit in particular.

With her best death glare, she tried to telepath that thought to the woman seated across the table from her, who was scribbling away notes as Gwen packed away the last of the records that had been used to find potential witches.

Romula Rinewater. The woman had visited (if that’s what one could call it, as the term _visitor_ implied the person was an expected or at least welcome entity) the academy three weeks ago, supposedly to learn more about their process for finding potential Selection Day applicants from the nonmagical world. She’d stayed for two whole days, which was exactly two whole days past her welcome. Then she’d arrived again this morning, though this time the staff had been aware of her plans. Today was Selection Day, and for some reason, the Council seemed to think that the entire Cackle’s administration had become absolutely inept at adjudicating the usual tests. As if _she_ hadn’t been overseeing these exams since before Miss Rinewater’s _mother_ was even born.

In the end, Gwen and Hecate had narrowed down the list to ten potential candidates. These were the girls whose pedigrees were ironclad, according to the rigorous requirements set by Miss Cackle—there had been a few more with promising backgrounds, but Hecate had continuously erred on the side of caution whenever they were met with an area of uncertainty (which was true to Hecate’s generally-cautious nature, but Gwen knew it was more about Hecate ensuring that no mistakes could reflect back on Ada).

Dimity, Ada, and Julie Hubble had been tasked with keeping an eye on the families whose daughters had been contacted. Three girls had already been excluded, because the invitation’s magic had not worked when it arrived—either through diluted magical ability on the girl’s part, or some kind of defense mechanism on the invitation’s part, as Hecate had set all sorts of protection charms on the papers, to ensure only the rightful recipient was granted access to the information within. Gwen assumed that this meant that someone in that particular family line had not been entirely honest or accurate when it came to the paternity of their offspring. But after thirteen generations, one could hardly fault an occasional mishap.

Another four girls had not shown their parents. The remaining three had, and Dimity, Ada, and Julie had met with the families, assuring them of the invitation’s validity and explaining as much as they could. One family had experienced a particularly volatile reaction to the revelation (religious fundamentalists were not fans of the craft, _quelle surprise_) and Dimity Drill had been quick on her feet with the forgetting powder, thankfully.

So at this point, it would be two long lost witchlings attending today, with the potential for four more, if those brave girls decided to travel to Cackle’s alone, without letting their parents know.

Gwen was rather certain that the academy and its staff could withstand two magically untrained eleven-year-olds. Hell, they’d survived thousands of much more capable young witches twittering about for decades, thank you very much—and the academy itself had withstood for _centuries_ beyond that.

Which led her to state, yet again, “I’m not sure why you’re here, Miss Rinewater.”

Miss Rinewater remained completely unfazed as she simply smiled and replied, “Miss Bat, as I’ve said before—”

“Spare me the bureaucratic codswallop,” Gwen rolled her eyes. Honestly, she was a bit insulted that the Council had even thought their _reasons_ were believable—it was an insult to the Cackle’s staff’s intelligence. “What has Miss Cackle done to make you doubt her abilities—or the capabilities of her staff, for that matter? I would think that if nothing, our track record has shown us to be beyond prepared for anything—”

“Miss Bat, there have been several concerning incidents—”

“That were all settled and solved. _Incidents_. As in small matters that did not affect the fabric of society in the least,” Gwen sniffed as she rose to her feet. With an impervious stare, she asked, “Have you ever worked with children, Miss Rinewater?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I’m afraid you haven’t the faintest clue of how to handle such a situation. Some situations have happened simply because we must let them happen. I’m sure you can think of a moment in your own time of student when you were forced to solve a problem you caused yourself, while keeping it from the teachers.”

Romula’s expression confirmed Gwen’s theory. The older witch nodded and said, with a smug smile, “I can guarantee you, the staff knew exactly what was going on. And they were prepared to step in, if it got too overwhelming. Part of our job is providing a safe space for students to make mistakes. We have to give our girls a chance to figure it out on their own—if it gets to be too much, we step in and take care of things, but this academy has been knit with spells and charms for centuries, and for the most part, there’s nothing that we can’t fix, once the lesson has been learned. So those _concerning incidents_, as you call them, were young witches learning how to responsibly use their powers in a safe environment. Becoming better prepared for the world outside the bubble of their academy. Explain to me why the Council would have a problem with that.”

The Councilwoman merely blinked. Gwen smirked. Sure, some of that wasn't entirely true. While the staff had a pretty good handle on things, there were times that incidents happened entirely without their knowledge or oversight. But Miss Rinewater certainly didn't need to know that. With an arch of her brow, Gwen merely transferred away, to the academy green, where the rest of the staff were waiting.

Maud Spellbody, looking so much like her mother that it took Gwen a moment to remember that it _wasn't_ Mavis, was helping usher a group of eager candidates towards the open front door, offering warm smiles and answering a few questions.

As usual, Hecate wore a dour expression, her position atop the staff platform making it much easier for her to look down the full length of her impressive nose at the passing gaggle of girls. Beside her, Ada was a ray of sunshine, smiling happily and keeping her voice in a lilting, chipper tone. Gwen smiled at the familiar scene, feeling a measure of comfort in knowing that despite it all, some things never changed.

Hecate was equally enjoying the familiar routine, though for vastly different reasons. She uttered a particularly sour aside, and Ada tilted her head slightly, keeping her voice low as she murmured a warning. “Do _try_ to be a bit more positive, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Make me,” Hecate shot back easily, never even glancing at Ada. She felt her wife’s body stiffen, and smiled because she knew exactly what that sort of challenge did to the very determined little blonde beside her.

Ada merely hummed in response and a heatwave rippled through Hecate’s chest at the amount of knowing and confidence contained in such a small, simple sound. _Oh, I certainly can, without breaking a sweat, Miss Hardbroom_.

“Behave,” was all Ada said, the playfulness infusing her admonishment implying that she wanted the exact opposite of her command.

This time, it was Hecate who hummed. _And what if I don’t, Miss Cackle?_

Ada grinned. As if Hecate didn’t know exactly what would happen, as if they both didn’t know exactly how this day would end.

Miss Bat, standing about ten feet away, suddenly had a coughing fit. Ada and Hecate glanced over, just as Romula Rinewater transferred onto the platform. Gwen tossed a quick glance in their direction and Hecate had the distinct impression that the woman had somehow known that Romula was incoming.

“Well,” Ada spoke in the airy tone that she used whenever she wasn’t feeling particularly jovial. “I’m off to give the introductory tour with the applicants. See you all at exam time.”

Once Ada had hurried away, Romula approached Hecate with a warm smile. “It’s quite a hustle and bustle, isn’t it?”

“No more so than any other year,” Hecate pointed out, her tone rather snippy.

Romula glanced out at the students and parents still roaming the green. “So, which ones are the nonmagical girls?”

Hecate looked affronted. “Seeing as each child is the descendant of a proper witching family, they _all_ are magical, regardless of their background.”

She’d made that mistake, with Mildred and with Indigo, both as a child and as an adult. And she’d meant what she’d said, when she’d promised to do better, to be a better teacher for Indigo and all the other girls. She may repeat her follies, and she might have a hard time learning her lessons, but goddess above, when Hecate Hardbroom made a promise, she fully intended to keep it.

Of course, there was the fact that she’d never publicly go against a decision Ada had made as headmistress, _especially_ in front of the Council.

“Right, of course,” Romula ducked her head, as if chastised.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Hecate moved past her, motioning to Miss Drill, who was at the other end of the green. “We must prepare for the first round of written exams.”

Romula nodded in understanding, before turning expectantly towards Miss Bat, who was still standing on the platform.

“Absolutely not,” was the elder woman’s reply. And with that, she transferred away.

* * *

Aside from Gwen Bat being even snarkier than usual, the day went off without a hitch—or at least, without any hitches that weren’t completely expected and prepared for. One incoming student tried a transfiguration spell and muddled it up, as usual. Another girl’s levitation spell was so sudden and so powerful that she banged her head on the ceiling and had a lovely goose egg on her forehead as a prize. One girl was so nervous during the written exam that when she sneezed, all the pencils shot out of the girls’ hands and pelted against a wall.

By the end of the day, Romula Rinewater was on her way back to her own home to write up her council report, and Miss Cackle was thoroughly taking her deputy to task for previous moments of insubordination—though one could argue her methods were actually a reward for bad behavior, rather than a true punishment.

It was nearly midnight by the time Hecate slipped into a bath, far too sweaty for a simple showering spell. Ada soon joined her, smiling softly at the way Hecate’s thighs tightened around her hips once she settled into the tub, letting her back fully rest against Hecate’s front as the warm water lapped around their shoulders. Selection Day was always a reminder that their lazy summer moments were soon to be over, and they always tried to hang on to the sense of indulgence for just a little while longer.

Hecate’s expressive hands gently scooped up small handfuls of water, releasing them over the curve of Ada’s shoulders. As a witch who pulled power from water, even a simple bath had noticeable effects on Ada’s magic—Hecate could feel it pushing, swirling against Ada’s skin, silently delighting in being so close to a source of power again. Ada felt calmer, more sure in a way that sent a harmonious ripple against Hecate’s skin, making her feel grounded as well.

“I think…” Ada’s voice was still a bit raspy from sex, lined with hesitancy. “I feel…worried, still.”

Hecate merely hummed in understanding. Her hands kept bringing water up to her wife’s shoulders, the sound steady and reassuring. After a pause, she spoke, her voice low and calming, “Do you still believe it’s the right choice?”

A rhetorical question, really, because they both knew the answer. Still, Ada spoke it aloud, “Yes. Absolutely.”

“Then it will be well,” Hecate’s faith was simple and strong as she wrapped her arms around her wife’s midsection, tightening her embrace and curving inward to press more into Ada’s body, placing a kiss on her shoulder. Ada felt completely held, protected from everything else. Hecate nuzzled the side of her neck, whispering in her ear, “We’ll be alright, Ada. We _are_ alright.”

Ada couldn’t stop the smirk spreading across her features, “You’ve become quite the believer now, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Let’s just say I was subjected to a rather compelling argument,” Hecate returned easily, her teeth lightly tugging on Ada’s earlobe. Ada laughed, and Hecate grinned in triumph. Her tone turned wryer as she asked, “Do _you_ need convincing, Miss Cackle?”

Her hand was slipping further down Ada’s body, touch weighted with unmistakable intent.

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice little reminder,” Ada shrugged, as if she wasn’t already reacting to her wife’s touch, as if her body wasn’t already singing in anticipation. Hecate hummed, amused by her feigned nonchalance.

Hecate shifted, leaning both of them further back, letting more warm water envelop Ada’s shoulders. Ada settled against her wife’s body, truly relaxing into the sensations swirling in her blood stream.

She had to admit, Hecate Hardbroom could be quite convincing, when she put her mind to it.

* * *

The next morning, Ada Cackle entered her office to find her maglet dinging with a message from the Magic Council. They expected to be informed as to whether or not the young girls from nonmagical families had been accepted into the academy, and if not, reassurances that they and their families had been administered forgetting powder and safely transported home.

Hecate sputtered like a tea kettle on boil. “What an absolute—they have _no_ _right_ to know! These girls are here because they passed our examinations and have fulfilled every requirement to attend Cackle’s. That’s all they need to know.”

She was in full Hardbroom regalia, defiant and offended at the same time. While Ada shared her wife’s disapproval at the Council’s request, she couldn’t help but smile to see Hecate so stalwart in her defense of a child who might be exactly like Mildred Hubble. She wisely chose not to point this out.

As it turned out, three girls with nonmagical backgrounds would be attending Cackle’s as first year students—the two whose families had known, and one brave little thing who’d shown up without parental knowledge, whose parents were brought up to speed afterwards, much like Julie Hubble had been. In fact, Julie Hubble had been on hand to help with their questions.

But Hecate was right—their background was not a matter of importance, especially in matters of the Council.

“It _isn’t_ their right to know,” Ada agreed. “But if we don’t respond, then we look as if we have something to hide.”

“Which we do not.” Hecate gave a curt nod, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ada chewed her bottom lip, looking at the maglet message as if perhaps it contained the answer. Hecate had a point: the girls had a right to privacy, though certainly word would get around about their lineage soon enough. There were over a hundred girls at this school, things of such nature rarely stayed a secret for long. But there was a difference between some snarky remarks from peers and actual discrimination from the Magic Council itself.

“If we could…assure them that everything is in hand, without necessarily giving away the girls’ identities.” Ada was thinking aloud.

“Honestly, the Council could figure it out on their own, if they spent any amount of time and brain power on it,” Hecate shrugged, taking long, slow steps over to the window of Ada’s office. “It isn’t really about keeping anyone from finding out so much as it is the morality of _how_ they find out.”

Ada made a small noise of agreement.

“The girls deserve a chance, Ada,” Hecate was still turned to the window, her voice soft and etched with regret. Ada knew that she was thinking of how she should have said the same thing about Mildred and Indigo, how she should have been a better champion for the children placed under her care and instruction. Thinking of all the ways she failed them, failed herself.

“Yes, they do,” the blonde agreed, just as quietly.

There was a long, weighted pause. Ada could tell that Hecate’s mind was rolling over something, some suggestion that she wasn’t entirely certain about sharing with her wife just yet. So Ada waited quietly, letting Hecate’s impressive mind weigh all the pros and cons, eventually finding her way back to speech.

“I’m going to mirror the Great Wizard,” she finally announced, the certainty in her tone unmistakable despite its soft edges. She turned back to face Ada, the skin around her eyes tightening with pain, “I’ll have to play the traitor again, I’m afraid.”

“It’s a role that has saved us, many a time,” Ada reminded her gently, silently forgiving her wife for what she would have to say to convince the Great Wizard of her position. She knew it wasn’t easy for Hecate, but they both knew that at times, it had been a literal life-saver.

Hecate merely ducked her head in agreement, moving back to her wife to gently place her hands on Ada’s shoulders, taking a long, shallow breath to steel herself. Ada let her hands trace along the lines of Hecate’s hips, whirling in small, reassuring circles. Forcing herself to grin, Ada added, “If it bothers you so deeply, I’m sure I can devise a list of ways for you to make it up to me.”

Hecate gave a low chuckle, shaking her head, “Ada Cackle, you are incorrigible.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ada rolled up on tiptoe to kiss her wife. “Now, go give that silly man the performance of a lifetime.”

Just for good measure, Ada gave her wife’s ass a quick pinch, making Hecate give a small jump of surprise.

“Incorrigible,” Hecate drawled again, pulling Ada in for a quick, searing kiss. The blonde hummed in self-satisfied agreement. Then Hecate stepped back, arching her brows in an attempt to look reprimanding but failing miserably. By the time she transferred away, she was smiling in her deliciously sharp way.

* * *

Hecate’s smile was long gone as she paced in front of her mirror, wiping her hands down the front of her skirt and ducking her head as she slowly inhaled again. She felt sick, anxiety twisting in her gut, bile burning and bubbling as her throat involuntarily clenched.

It never got easier, playing this game. Never got less dangerous, either.

She would always do it, because it was a thing that needed to be done, and for all her other faults and failings, Hecate Hardbroom prided her ability to see any task through, no matter how unpleasant or downright painful it might be, even when it didn’t feel good or morally superior, and that was important.

_Sometimes people confuse what feels good with what is good_, Ada had gently said, once. Hecate could still feel the tender kiss Ada had placed on her temple as she said it, a silent benediction. And while they didn’t always agree on what was the good thing or the necessary thing to be done in a situation, Ada always respected that Hecate did most things from a sense of dedication to the greater good, no matter how she might feel about it personally.

This was one of those times. While her physical stomach rebelled, she did have the mental stomach for it, and she would grit her teeth and see it through.

With a final nod, she set down at her vanity, quickly finding the Great Wizard’s card and tapping it against the mirror pane.

He answered almost instantly, his brief look of surprise disappearing as he smiled, “Well met, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Well met, Your Greatness.” Even in her seated position, she leaned forward slightly in a modified curtsy. Oh, she'd bow and scrape and do a thousand servile things, if it kept Ada safe.

“I assume Miss Cackle has received our latest missive.”

“She has, and she’s a bit confused as to its purpose,” Hecate admitted. “As am I.”

The Great Wizard merely smiled, the patronizing air palpable. “Well, Hecate, I’m sure you understand more than anyone why we must…keep an eye on these children.”

The bubbling feeling in her stomach stopped. It turned to ice.

“And while we understand how…nice it would be, to have these witches back where they belong—we have to ask ourselves: do they truly belong here, in our world?” He tilted his head slightly, as if actually contemplating the question. It was all for show, Hecate knew. He'd already contemplated, already made his decision. It was merely about finding the right person to enact it.

Hecate ducked her head. She knew the response she was supposed to give, the response he wanted. Instead, she gave as much as she could while still being truthful, “I’m sure you know my stance on the matter, sir.”

He didn’t, not really. He knew the stance that he _wanted_ her to have, and that was entirely different. Still, Hecate wasn’t responsible for how he might twist her words to fit his own ideas.

“I do,” he returned warmly. “And it’s a shame that Miss Cackle has ignored your input in this situation entirely. But there is a way to make her see the light.”

Hecate looked up again, eyebrows rising in curiosity. She let her fingers curl, nails digging into the tops of her thighs—the nervous action didn’t show in the mirror, and it helped keep some of the anxiety from so plainly showing in her face. “Oh?”

“Miss Cackle wasn’t around when you had your own…indiscretions,” the Great Wizard chose his words delicately, though it didn’t matter. Hecate fought back the urge to point out that Ada had been around when Mildred had joined the academy, and when Indigo had returned. The wizard continued, “She really has no idea what’s truly at stake.”

The feigned concern in his words were like oil-covered vipers, slithering over Hecate’s skin. She clenched every muscle in her body to keep from shivering at their effect.

“Perhaps she needs a reminder.”

No amount of self-control could stop Hecate’s shock from showing. Given the wizard’s smug smirk, it was expected and welcomed. _He truly thinks himself clever_, she realized.

“I will leave it you to decided how, exactly, that reminder occurs,” he opened his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “But I trust that I can depend on you to ensure the lesson is properly learned. A single child, properly attuned, can do sufficient damage to prove the folly of this venture, once an for all.”

“Sir, I—” Hecate stopped herself, still too flummoxed to properly respond. The Great Wizard himself was asking her to…make a child become dangerous? To stop a noble attempt to repopulate their society? To potentially endanger their entire world to make a petty and close-minded point?

“Now, I know, the thought of it must be unnerving,” he held up his hand again, as if allaying her fears. “Given your particular background, I would be surprised if it _didn’t_ inspire some anxiety. But we will have people in place to help…contain any damage.”

Her mouth went completely dry and her throat clenched shut. She hadn’t misunderstood, then. Still, she pushed herself to speak, “People?”

He nodded, “Yes, Miss Rinewater will be returning to observe the first few weeks of term. To help keep an eye on things—that’s the official party line, at least. But you will find her most amenable to fulfill any requests you may have, Miss Hardbroom.”

“And Miss Rinewater is…aware of the situation?”

“Not yet, and she won’t be entirely. But she understands the need to scrutinize the situation at Cackle’s—and before she returns to the academy, I will ensure that she understands both her role and yours.”

Hecate nodded dumbly, blinking slowly as she still hurried to process everything. The room felt like it was beginning to slowly tilt off its axis.

_Ada_. Her one thought, without any other clarification, shone in her mind like a beacon. She pulled herself up straighter, nodding again with more surety than she felt. “Of course, sir. I will, as always, strive to do what it best for our society.”

That wasn’t a lie in the least.

He nodded in smug agreement, “I knew I could depend on you, Miss Hardbroom.”

She tried to smile. Tried to act like that was a compliment when it landed like a blade in her gut. It still hurt, sometimes, knowing how faithless people assumed she was. How little she cared for Ada, for her girls. Still, those assumptions had been a gift in themselves, and she would remember that.

The call ended and she took a long, shaking breath, shifting in her seat so that she could lean forward, letting her chest rest on her knees and her hands dangle by her ankles as she closed her eyes and took several more deep breaths. Once the need to vomit dissipated, she sat up and prepared herself for Ada.

* * *

They talked in the greenhouse, because Hecate’s nerves demanded that her hands be busy and she certainly didn’t have the presence of mind to deal with potions. The wives donned their gardening aprons and set to work on a new batch of seedlings, which had been nursed back to health over the summer after a particularly grueling heatwave and were finally strong enough to be transplanted into the larger box planters at the center of the greenhouse.

“So,” Ada poured another bucketful on water on the box planter soil, preparing it for the transfer. It was an invitation to begin, which Hecate took.

“So…he wants to teach you a lesson, as it were,” her mouth curved downward in disapproval as she hoisted the flat of seedlings onto the wooden edge of the planter. She made sure it was properly balanced on the corner boards before stepping back, dusting her gloves against her apron. “He practically begged me to create a repeat performance of Indigo Moon—the one that ends with her turning to stone after nearly destroying the entire academy.”

“Well, one must give him credit for going all-in,” Ada said lightly, the sarcasm still evident in every word. Her wife smirked. Ada turned her attention to thoroughly watering the seedlings. “I’m assuming he wants to cast one of the new girls as Indigo.”

Hecate hummed in agreement. Again, her stomach tightened at the thought of putting such a small child in the crosshairs of an intrigue. The absolute cruelty needed to turn a young girl into a monster—the injustice of it made her skin hurt.

Quietly, she admitted, “I don’t know what to do.”

Ada’s heart felt a pang at the smallness of her wife’s tone. She looked up, offering a wobbly smile, “I don’t either, my love, but we’ll figure it out together. We always do.”

Hecate gave a small, stiff nod, shifting around Ada to pick up a trowel. She turned the soil over a few times, making sure it was thoroughly loosened before creating the small craters for each new seedling to be planted. Ada followed along behind her, gently scooping up a seedling and setting it into place. They continued in thoughtful silence until every plant was properly installed.

“Lovely,” Ada decreed with a self-satisfied smile. Hecate’s meticulous nature ensured that the plants were evenly spaced in a perfect design. There was something hopeful about the pristine rows of little bright green leaves that never failed to give Ada a sense of cheer.

However, Hecate still wore an uneasy expression. “One wonders if they’ll still be here, in a few weeks.”

The potions mistress was generally not a dour predictor when it came to plant life. Ada understood this was about the fate of the academy itself, not a few little seedlings.

“The greatest predictor of the future is the past,” she reminded her wife gently, wrapping her arm around Hecate's waist to pat her hip in reassurance.

The idea struck them both at the same time. Slowly, they looked at each other.

It was Hecate who voiced it aloud, “The greatest predictor of the future is…the future.”

Her hand instinctively went to her midsection, where beneath her apron lay a clock with no hands—a clock that did not keep time, at least not in the linear way. Ada studied her face, those dark eyes wide in a mixture of fear and hope. Hecate never asked Ada; she knew the dangers that came with such a request. Even now, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to actually consider the option.

Ada pressed her lips together and nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Hecate blurted out, almost immediately regretting her original suggestion.

Her wonderful, sweet, beautiful wife merely smiled. Quietly, she said, “I think we both know that I do, my love.”

Hecate turned away, only slightly, still staying in the safety of Ada’s arm currently wrapped around her.

“It’s not just about us,” Ada reminded her. “There’s so much more on the line.”

Hecate nodded, quickly and jerkily. Her gardening gloves vanished and her hand lightly pressed in a fist against her mouth. Her eyes were blinking rapidly, shoulders hitched high and frozen in tension. Ada gingerly shifted so that she was standing behind her, hands on Hecate’s hips as she leaned forward and placed a small kiss on the space between those taut shoulder blades.

“I always come back,” she said, wrapping her arms around her wife and turning so that her cheek was firmly against Hecate’s back, taking in the sound of her small, unsteady breathing.

“Yes,” Hecate’s voice was so small that Ada barely heard it. Her hands came to lightly rest over Ada’s.

“Nothing bad has ever happened while I was away. Nothing we couldn't fix.”

“No.” She felt the deeper breath that Hecate finally took, trying to steady herself. Hecate’s fingertips were lightly ghosting over the thick fabric of Ada’s gardening gloves. Her movements were easier now—once again, it was Hecate’s hands that told Ada her mental state, and currently, she was becoming calmer. Trying to remind herself of the good instead of the potential bad.

_This is who you are_, Ada wanted to say. _This is the girl you were trying to find on our trip, the woman I was trying to remind you of, that night in the cottage by the sea. You are nervous and afraid and naturally anxious, and you do it anyway, because you are brave, in the best of ways, in the moments it truly counts._

Ada simply squeezed her wife tighter. She felt Hecate’s frame relax further.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Hecate’s voice was a little louder, a littler surer. “After dinner.”

Ada hummed in agreement. Time traveling did require a bit of logistical work, which was, unsurprisingly, a forte of her wife’s. Hecate was gently asking for a little more time to adjust to the idea, to push her fears aside and look at it from a practical point of view. Ada could give her time.

Ada’s gardening gloves vanished and Hecate immediately sensed what was coming next, long before her wife’s teasing tone noted, “Dinner is hours away. However shall we pass the time?”

Hecate let her hands brace against the wooden sides of the planter, pushing back further into Ada’s body. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Several somethings.”

Hecate merely hummed in amusement. No one could ever claim her wife lacked ambition or initiative. She closed her eyes and tried to channel any remaining anxiety into something far more rewarding. Not for the first time—and hopefully not for the last—she let herself relax into Ada’s hands, knowing she was safe as she could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, this chapter repeats some headcanons I've either expressed on tumblr before (aka the Cackle's staff being far less incompetent than implied in the show, and the idea that they often are aware of the situation but are allowing the girls to make their own mistakes and learn from them) or have simply had rolling around in my head for a bit (aka Hecate's watch, which according to a line in season three "doesn't have hands", implying it has to have some other purpose). Come squawk into my dms about this ish, if you want.


	2. Chapter 2

“Right,” Hecate clicked open her watch again, the fingers of her other hand delicately curling like living question marks. “So if you reach the next portal at precisely four o'clock—”

“I’ll be back before you’ve even known I’m gone.” That was the part Ada liked best about time travel. She could be gone for days, and for her wife, it would be mere seconds. She looked down at the book opened on the worn worktable in the potions storeroom, memorizing the timetable again. The castle itself had its own series of time vortexes and portals, which an ancestor had painstakingly chronicled. It was a matter of reaching the right opening at the right moment, and using the proper spell to pop back into the moment to which she wished to return. A bit of science and a healthy dose of luck, plus a better-than-average control of time spells. Her mother had never been particularly good at it, but Ada had been blessed with a natural talent which was further developed through her own rigorous testing in her youth, in the long, lonely days after Agatha was sent away. Nowadays, she could easily pop in and out of the past, present, and future, as easily as her wife could transfer from one room to the next.

It was one of the reasons she’d given the watch to Hecate. So her wife would always know where she was, within the stream of time. Sometimes she caught Hecate glancing at it even when they were in a room together, a little habit that had become ingrained over the years. Or sometimes Hecate would clutch it or play with it, whenever she was caught up in thought or worry. It was endearing, knowing it had become her security blanket, in more ways than one.

“And if you miss that one?” Hecate turned her gaze back to her wife, waiting for Ada to supply the next five portal points, which she did. Hecate gave a curt nod of approval at her wife’s memorization skills. Holding the book up for show, Hecate sent it to the hiding place that she always put it in, whenever Ada was traveling outside their current time—if something happened and Ada wasn’t sure about her next opportunity to travel back, she could always find the book and its charts. Not for the first time, Ada smiled at her wife’s over-planning and how secure it made her feel, knowing that now matter where she went or for how long, Hecate was always her Ariadne, leaving strings to pull her back home again.

“I love you,” Ada said simply, knowing that Hecate understood. Her wife smiled in response.

“Love me enough to come back as soon as possible,” she decreed, leaning in for a kiss.

“Of course.”

“Now,” Hecate kept her fingers gently wrapped around Ada’s wrists, but she took a step back, giving her wife one last once-over. “You’ve got it all pictured in your mind?”

Ada nodded. This type of thing was something she could practically do in her sleep, but she knew that Hecate’s now-familiar checklist of questions and affirmations helped ease her anxiety—she wouldn’t begrudge her wife such a simple thing, especially when it reminded Ada of just how loved and protected she was.

“You’ve double-checked? Triple-checked?” Again, Hecate already knew the answer (heavens, the woman had checked it nearly five times herself), yet she still waited for Ada’s nod of affirmation. “You’ve memorized the next five points and you know where the book is.”

Again, another nod from the blonde.

“Right,” Hecate took a sharp, small breath, squaring her shoulders. “Then you’re all set.”

“Almost.” Ada corrected, tugging her wife back in for one last kiss, relishing the way Hecate’s body arched and molded against hers, as if trying to imprint herself on Ada, to follow her and keep her safe on whatever adventure she may find. Yes, this woman and her love was wonderfully overwhelming, Ada smiled to herself.

With her best dashing smile, Ada stepped back, offering one last wink. “See you soon, love.”

Hecate merely nodded, not trusting her voice as her anxiety swelled and roared in her chest.

And just like that, Ada was gone.

* * *

Ada blinked as her vision tried to correct itself—the first few moments after a time transfer, it was always a bit blurry. She found herself in the library, the air cold and dark. The library had a large bay window, whose curtains had been left open to let in the moonlight, casting the room in a dreary, sterile shade of pale blue.

Ada took a deep breath, enjoying the quietness of the room. Even now, the books simmered with unspoken magic, a little song that very few could hear. Ada let her fingertips trail across their spines, smiling to herself. Good, there was still magic here. That was a very good sign.

She quietly padded over the thick carpeting, opening the heavy wooden door. The clock chimed, low and solemn. It was the witching hour—generally the time she always popped into a new time stream, another little detail that reassured her. Everything was going exactly as expected.

She moved quietly through the corridors, wrapping herself in an invisibility spell. The castle still seemed inhabited—clean floors and in-tact paintings on the walls, still obviously cared for.

When she got to her destination, she hesitated. The door to the headmistress’ office was open, the warm glow of a fire sending little shadows dancing across the threshold. Quietly, she stepped inside.

Her heart leapt at the sight in front of her. The décor and the furniture had changed, but it was nearly the same set up—two highbacked chairs, angled towards the fire. And in one of the chairs, her wife.

It was nearly twenty years into the future, and Hecate’s hair was a lovely birch now, more white than brunette and still piled atop her head in a much-looser bun. She didn’t wear all black, but rather a rich emerald green robe over a long black dress, still high-necked and elegant as ever.

In the light of the fire, the watch glinted from its chain. Ada couldn’t stop the smile blossoming over her features.

Hecate’s eyes were closed, but she suddenly sat up, on alert. Craning her neck and peering at the doorway, she gently asked, “Ada?”

Her voice was lower now, softer. Ada froze, hoping Hecate would eventually drift off again—or better yet, leave the room. It was always best not to cross paths with people from different times. A safer way of ensuring things didn’t get messed around too badly.

Hecate’s hands went to her lap, and that’s when Ada noticed the leatherbound notebook. The future form of her wife held it up in explanation, “Ada, if that’s you, it’s alright. I’m…I’m supposed to see you. You told me that I would. I’ve been…waiting.”

Something in her tone sent a prickle of fear down Ada’s spine. This was always the danger of visiting the future—you might find out things you didn’t quite wish to know. Still, she removed the invisibility spell.

The delight that broke across Hecate’s face was still a familiar sight.

“Oh, look at you,” she breathed, blinking back tears. “You’re—how far into your future are we again?”

“Seventeen years,” Ada supplied, moving closer. Hecate rose to her feet (not nearly as quickly as she used to), delicately moving closer as well, one hand reaching out to almost touch Ada’s face before pulling back.

Still, she smiled, “You’re so…young. I mean, you aged well, dearest, but you still just look so….”

Hecate merely trailed off with a shake of her head, lips still twisted into an adoring smile.

“Where am I?” Ada wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she couldn’t help asking. “I mean, my future—your current Ada, where is she?”

“Not here,” Hecate answered vaguely. Her grip on the diary tightened. “You always said to—I can’t tell you a lot of things, Ada, but just know that when you know your past self is coming, you…go away for awhile. So you don’t give too much away.”

“So I’m still alive,” Ada felt a measure of relief.

Hecate’s face contorted into a look of pained compassion, “Ada, I—I can’t tell you these things. My past is still your future and I can’t have you changing it, in an attempt to prevent certain things from happening.”

Of course, Ada understood this. However, a part of her screamed to know the truth, for certain—not for herself, but for Hecate. The thought of Hecate here, alone, was heartbreaking.

“Just tell me—are you happy?”

Now Hecate gave her that familiar syrupy sweet smile. “Yes. Even when I don’t feel like I am, I am happy.”

“Then that’s all I need to know,” Ada said, more for herself than anything.

Hecate cleared her throat, shifting back to glance down at the floor, “So, you need—wait, I’m sorry, what are you looking for?”

She knew, of course. Ada imagined the book contained every detail that her future self remembered from this encounter. But they both understood that Ada still had to ask—if she changed her question, it could change their entire future.

“I need to see the student files for the three nonmagical girls we accepted into the academy, seventeen years ago,” Ada supplied. Hecate nodded, silently confirming that this was indeed the right question.

“We’ve changed things around a bit since then,” Hecate informed her, moving towards the desk still in its former place. She still walked with an easy grace, and Ada smiled at the similarities between her current wife and her future one. “Records-wise, anyways. That’s why I’m here, I suppose—you knew that you would need my help finding things.”

“When did we start keeping a diary?” Ada asked as Hecate set the leatherbound book on the desk.

“Now,” Hecate looked up with a knowing smirk. After a beat, she added, “Funny, isn’t it? How cyclical things can be—you start doing something because your past self saw your future self doing it, and your future self only does it because your past self saw her doing it.”

Ada’s head swam a bit, but she nodded in agreement. Hecate pulled the three student files from a desk drawer, and Ada had the sneaking suspicion that she’d had them waiting for Ada's arrival. It was a typical Hecate move, being so overly prepared.

Hecate glanced down, hand coming up to snap in a gesture that was both thoughtless and theatrical, as always. A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses appeared on her nose as she began lightly skimming over the details of each file—Ada knew that she was making sure there wasn’t anything too revealing in the pages (and she was dead certain that the woman had already double checked this before, another typical Hecate move). Ada took the time to further scrutinize her wife’s new features. Aside from the hair color, her wife had changed in several ways. The age spots on her hands, the webbings of new wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, her wider hips and softer curves. She had aged beautifully, and Ada’s heart ached in anticipation of watching it all happen in real time, over the next nearly two decades.

Hecate noticed her scrutiny and smiled slightly, expressive hand flitting over her hairline, almost as if she wanted to hide her face from Ada’s eyes. “I’m sure it’s quite—I don’t look nearly as young as you’re used to seeing.”

“You look beautiful,” Ada informed her, wholeheartedly. Hecate ducked her head and blushed, refocusing her attention back on the files. Ada was certain that if her future self was still alive, then she was definitely still making sure her wife felt loved and desired, but maybe it was different, looking at a younger version of Ada and knowing that she hadn’t had time to adjust to all the changes. For Ada, it was a novelty, being the younger one, for once.

She couldn’t help but tease, “I see you finally got glasses.”

Hecate hummed in amusement, “Yes, well. You finally got tired of me stealing yours.”

“I like the way you look wearing my glasses,” Ada informed her. “I can’t imagine ever getting tired of the sight.”

“I suppose you didn’t tire of it,” Hecate conceded, frowning slightly at a line in one of the files. “But it did become more of an issue, as my eyes got worse. I practically need them all the time these days—a bit inconducive to borrowing yours, and you need them just as much.”

“They’re a good look for you,” Ada smiled again.

Now Hecate’s gaze flicked back up to meet Ada’s, corners of her eyes crinkling playfully. “You picked them out.”

Again, Ada understood the cyclical nature of things. Yes, she would pick these exact frames later on, in her future and this Hecate’s past, because she’d seen this future Hecate wearing them now.

“I think all the damning details have been removed,” Hecate drawled, handing over the files. Her other hand clasped over her watch, and Ada couldn’t help but smile at the familiar action.

“Hecate? What on earth are you doing here?” A new voice interrupted the conversation, oddly familiar but still not immediately placed. Hecate’s eyes were wide with shock and Ada whirled around to see who was at the door to her office.

Even after seventeen years of growing up, the familiar brown eyes and open face were immediately recognizable.

“Ada?” Mildred Hubble’s face was awash in shock. “But you’re—”

“Not supposed to be here,” Hecate finished quickly, moving around the desk to stand near Ada. “Yes, we know.”

Mildred’s wide eyes flicked back over to Hecate, and a silent exchange ensued. Whatever was said, Mildred seemed to understand, because she merely blinked and looked back at Ada with a slight tilt of her head.

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” she admitted. “Particularly at this hour of the night.”

“Yes, well,” Hecate cleared her throat, hands flicking down the lengths of her robes. “We could say the same about you, Miss Hubble.”

“Well I’m certainly more likely to be roaming these halls than you are, _Miss_ Hardbroom,” Mildred returned easily enough with an arch of her brows—a mannerism that looked remarkably like one of Hecate’s, when Ada thought about it. Mildred moved further into the room, closing the door with a wave of her wrist.

“Careful, your ageism’s showing,” Hecate warned, though there wasn’t any bite behind her words. If anything, Ada detected a hint of amusement.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Mildred had pulled up the lights, still visibly trying to adjust to the sight of a much younger Miss Cackle. With a wry grin, she spoke to Ada, “She does not mellow with age, in case you couldn’t tell.”

Basic logic told Ada Cackle that Mildred Hubble was now some sort of teacher at the academy, and the thought made her grin in absolute delight.

Mildred turned her attention back to Hecate, “How much does she…?”

Hecate gave a curt shake of her head. Mildred seemed to understand. She asked her next question, “And how long is she here for?”

Hecate’s expression informed her that while Hecate knew exactly how long she was here, she couldn’t reveal that information in front of Ada.

“Ah, right.” Again, Mildred understood. With a slight grimace, she added, “Sorry. I forgot it’s always so hush-hush with you.”

“We’re trying not to alter the course of the past,” Hecate reminded her. “And in conjunction, _our_ future, Miss Hubble.”

“I wouldn’t mind a little alteration,” Mildred gave a slight shrug. Ada got the feeling that she was winding Hecate up.

However, Hecate merely rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion, “Away, Miss Hubble. We have work to do—as do you, soon enough.”

The younger woman nodded in agreement. With a soft smile so reminiscent of the young girl she once was, she took a moment to simply take in Ada one last time, “It’s been nice to see you, Miss Cackle. Makes me feel like I’m a student again.”

With a proud smirk, she held up her hand and transferred away.

“She’s gotten remarkably good at that,” Hecate commented, once her former student was fully away.

“She learned from the best.” Even without any clue about the seventeen years between their memories, Ada knew that much was true.

The corner of Hecate’s mouth quirked into a smirk.

“I know I’m not suppose to know, but—she’s a teacher here?” Ada guessed, certain that Hecate wouldn’t answer.

“No,” Hecate informed her. Noting Ada’s surprised expression, she clarified, “You knowing what Mildred becomes will not affect how your treat her in any way, Ada. It’s an indirect path in your life. She’s currently here as a visiting adjunct, for one term only. It’s her night to monitor the halls—hence her arrival. She must have set alarm spells on the office. Rather clever, really.”

“Probably remembers her own escapades,” Ada supplied. This earned her a wry hum from her wife. “What does she teach?”

Now Hecate’s lips twisted into a smirk as she tried to hide her amusement. “She is rather well known for her book, _Practical Potions for the Modern Witch_.”

Ada laughed. Hecate ducked her head, her expression becoming soft. “It’s quite good.”

“Again, she learned from the best,” Ada reached out to wrap a comforting arm around her wife, then stopped herself. It seemed…not right, touching this Hecate who technically wasn’t her wife, not yet.

Hecate noticed the action and gave a small, syrupy smile. “It’s alright, Ada. We’ve…crossed paths like this before. You’re still you, I’m still me. There’s no reason to act like strangers.”

Ada felt a measure of relief. Hecate reached out, fingertips lightly trilling as she tucked Ada’s hair behind her ear.

“See?” Hecate’s brows lilted hopefully. “The world didn’t implode. Now, read your files.”

Ada skimmed the files. There were a few notes that had been magically blurred out, and it worried Ada a bit, because they seemed like disciplinary actions, but all in all, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. All the girls finished their time at Cackle’s and went on to either attend a university or a trade school.

“Well, it seems it all worked out,” she offered a small, hopeful smile to Hecate.

“It did,” her wife conceded softly.

“But…how?” Ada knew it was tough line to walk, between knowing how to approach the situation and having too much of the future spoiled in the learning.

Hecate turned away slightly, grabbing the diary off the headmistress’ desk. Her long fingers tightened, pressing into the leather. “You haven’t asked the right questions yet, Ada. I…I can’t—there is a script I must follow, and I cannot deviate from it. I won’t—I won’t risk changing things, even in the slightest, especially for us.”

Ada smiled at her tender ferocity, at her desire to keep their history (Ada’s future) the same—that gave Ada another measure of hope, knowing that it must mean their life together was filled with so much good, with nothing worth changing.

So she merely nodded in understanding, feeling a familiar tug on her heart for the way Hecate’s expression melted in relief. Then she turned her attention back to the files, trying to figure out what she was missing.

After a while, Hecate urged her to sit. They took up their usual positions by the fire, Hecate absentmindedly watching the fire as she played with her necklace, Ada reading over the files again and again, brow furrowing as she tried to figure out what to ask next, what clue to look for.

She decided to take a break, give her mind a chance to work it out without pressure. So she nodded towards the diary, which Hecate was currently reading, quietly asking, “Is there really a script? Line for line?”

“No, not that precise,” Hecate looked down at the book. One fingertip traced the outline of the book’s cover, and even in that small gesture, her expressive hands were filled with tender affection. Ada wondered what stories lay inside the well-worn book, what future happiness awaited. Hecate continued, “It’s more…well it’s a guideline. When you came back—or when you go back, I suppose—you are equally worried about giving too much away. So you wrote down just enough, for me. Just enough for me to keep things the same, without giving everything away.”

There was a slight pause in which Hecate chewed her bottom lip, fingernail pressing slightly harder into the leather. “But I am…afraid. Of saying the wrong thing, of…ruining the timeline. You see, for you, it’s already happened—even as it’s happening now, it’s already been done. And what you go back and write is what you see now. And if I…if I change something, I change your future—I change my past. And I….”

She shook her head, small and quick, blinking back tears as she turned herself to the fire. “I don’t want any of it change. Not a single second.”

Ada merely hummed in understanding. As frustrating as it could be, this all meant good things for her—for them, for Hecate of the past and future.

“I’m not sure if Mildred was supposed to arrive,” Hecate added quietly. “She—you didn’t mention her, before, in the diary. But you always liked to leave little surprises for me. You said I would be far too smug if I knew everything.”

Now she was smiling at Ada, the corner of her mouth curling in a little self-effacing smirk. Ada chuckled softly. “Sounds like something I would say.”

Ada was slightly concerned by Hecate’s use of the past tense when referring to her, but again, she knew she couldn’t ask. Instead, she looked down at the files, thumbs gently brushing over the folders in her hands as if she could coax some information out of them.

“Could we…play a round of twenty questions?” She looked up at her future wife again.

Hecate visibly relaxed, and Ada took it as a good sign. She shifted in her seat, angling her body more towards Ada again. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Am I on the right track?”

“Yes.”

“And the right track—is it looking at the girls’ files?”

Hecate considered the question. “Yes and no.”

Ada tried to clarify, “Is it looking at files?”

“Yes.”

“But not these ones in particular?”

“No.” Something in Hecate’s eyes was dancing, hinting that she was so close.

“So…another student’s files?”

“Yes!” Hecate nearly leapt from her chair.

The clock on the wall chimed the hour. Hecate’s fist wrapped around her necklace, her eyes wide with worry.

“Ada, you must be in the next vortex.” She rose to her feet and Ada followed suit, quickly transferring them to the belltower, where the next time portal waited.

It was far colder here, the wind whipping past their ears with a sharp, almost painful whistling sound. The moon was half-hidden by clouds now, a sickly grey light outlining their forms as they faced each other. Despite the darkness, Hecate’s expression was still so easily read—fear, absolute fear.

Ada hadn’t asked the right questions, hadn't asked _enough_ questions, she knew. Her stomach tightened with dread. “I can—I can stay, we can figure this out—”

“You _must_ go,” Hecate returned forcefully. If she’d brought the diary with her, Ada was certain she’d be raising it high, like some religious zealot touting her sacred text.

“But I haven’t—”

The first tingling appeared. The portal was opening, she knew. There were only a few seconds left. She was a time witch, she had all the time in the world to travel and choose from, and now, there wasn’t enough. How was that possible?

Hecate grabbed her shoulders, leaning in to frantically whisper, “You saw the answer tonight, you did. Let the Council come, and trust no one. No one is who they seem, not even yourself, not even those most familiar to you. It’s all a play, all the world’s a stage. Be safe, Ada Cackle. I love you.”

She placed a ghost of a kiss on Ada’s temple before pulling away, pushing her towards the portal.

“Hecate, I—”

“Go!”

Ada took a moment to simply look, one last time. And then she went, feeling far less certain than when she arrived. Hecate had been so terrified of ruining the timeline…but had Ada done exactly that herself?


	3. Chapter 3

Ada’s vision had not readjusted before Hecate was calling her name, fingers clutching at her wrists again as if physically pulling her out of the portal herself. The blonde blinked rapidly, slightly shocked by the sight of her wife, seventeen years younger, so painfully perfect and beautiful.

“I’m here,” she assured her, reaching out to simply cup Hecate’s face in her hands. Hecate’s fingers stayed wrapped around Ada’s wrists, thumbs lightly rubbing against the pulse points, further reassuring herself that the blonde was truly back, truly here.

They were in the records room. Ada knew that Hecate had transferred here as soon as Ada had left, waiting for her to reappear—and if she hadn’t, Hecate would have transferred to the next portal opening, over and over again until Ada finally popped out somewhere.

“I need…I need to write it all down, before I forget,” Ada said quickly.

Hecate glanced around and called a notebook from across the room into her hand.

It was a leatherbound journal. Pristine, pages completely blank.

Ada smiled, “Perfect.”

The first thing she jotted down was Hecate’s last words to her. She ripped them out and handed them to her wife, who mulled over the meaning in silence as Ada sat at the worktable and began writing out the entire encounter.

She didn’t write about Mildred Hubble. She understood why, now—knowing Mildred’s future might not affect how _Ada_ treated her, but it might affect Hecate’s attitude. She wrote a general outline, wrote the important parts: what time she arrived, what time she left, the questions that needed to be asked and answered. Desperately, she hoped and prayed to every deity she knew that this was exactly what future Hecate had been reading.

By the time she finished, it was nearly dawn. Hecate was seated on the edge of the table, facing Ada, her left knee resting comfortably against Ada’s left forearm. Ada tried not to smile at her wife’s obviousness—she wanted Ada as close as possible without actually hindering her, wanted to be touching, to be physically reassured that she really was here.

“That should do the trick,” Ada sat back with a self-satisfied smile. Now that her attention was no longer held by the journal, her left hand found its way under Hecate’s skirt, tracing up the curve of her calf. Nodding towards the paper in Hecate’s hand, she asked, “Any ideas?”

Hecate looked down at the words again, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I would have to know every single thing you saw, to know the answer to the first one.”

Ada contemplated the suggestion. There were some things she couldn’t share—Mildred Hubble's appearance, for example.

The thought tickled something in the back of her brain.

The last question she’d asked, Hecate had reacted as if she was so close to getting an answer—so close that Hecate had been desperate to tell her. And in her own way, she had.

_Another student’s file? Yes! _

The answer was in their students, their current students.

_But not these ones in particular?_

Who else had so much in common with these three new witches? Who else has been so instrumental in bringing them here in the first place?

_It’s all a play, all the world’s a stage…_

Who had proven herself to be a consummate little actress, capable of handling such an intrigue?

_You saw the answer tonight, you did._

_Mildred Hubble._


	4. Chapter 4

“Absolutely not,” Hecate was on her feet in a flash, unceremoniously dislodging her wife’s hand from her skirts. Despite her lack of sleep, her posture was letter-perfect ramrod straight as she flicked her arms out in a gesture of dismissal and adamant refusal. “We will not involve that child in _any_ scheme—”

“We may not have a choice, Hecate—and it’s better than involving one of the new girls.”

“They’re _children_, Ada,” Hecate’s voice was raspy with fear as she whirled back around, eyes wide.

The blonde kept her gaze firm as she leveled, “And you were just a child, too, when the Great Wizard rained hell down upon you for Indigo. And they will _still_ be just children when the Council attempts to jeopardize _all_ their lives just to prove a prejudiced point.”

It was harsh, but Hecate needed something to bring her back from the rising hysteria. The brunette blinked, once, then nodded.

Ada was right. The Great Wizard wanted Hecate to twist one of the new girls, to harden their hearts and make them hate this world, make them want to destroy it—to make them _try_ to destroy it, so that the Council could step in and save the day. Ada wanted to enlist the help of a young witch who (despite Hecate’s hesitancy to admit such a thing) had proven herself time and again to be a stalwart defender of the academy and its inhabitants.

"I need you to trust me," Ada's quiet voice nearly shattered the room.

Hecate took a beat to simply look at her wife. Ada’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her hands curled into a half-fist, her own posture tense—she was just as afraid as Hecate, but she was trying to find the best way out, trying to stay calm and save the day, as always. Hecate’s heart melted just a little with love for this brave and darling thing.

“I do trust you,” she said, moving back to Ada and resuming her seat on the edge of the table. Her hand flitted out, smoothing over Ada’s blonde bob. She reminded herself that Ada had seen the future in ways that she couldn’t fully share with her, that she knew things that Hecate couldn’t, and that above all, Hecate truly did trust Ada.

Ada’s shoulders visibly relaxed at the simple pronouncement.

“Now,” Hecate picked up the paper again, squinting as she looked over the words that she’d read precisely a hundred times. “What does the rest of it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Ada sighed all the way from the soles of her shoes.

“I should try to be more specific, in the future,” Hecate returned dryly. Ada gave a surprised laugh, caught off-guard by the moment of humor.

“You did exactly as you were meant to,” Ada assured her. Her hand came up to rest on Hecate’s knee. That much she knew, with absolute certainty. Future Hecate would never have told her anything more or less than exactly what she needed to—she wouldn’t do anything to upset the delicate balance of her past and their future.

“And you’re _quite_ certain I meant Mildred Hubble?” The younger witch quirked her brows again, still not fully ready to accept the idea of enlisting the girl’s help.

Ada merely nodded, and Hecate sensed the hesitancy bubbling in her wife’s veins. She knew the feeling all too well—being faced with a tenuous, life-changing situation, and not really being sure of anything other than the fact that you had to try _something, _all while being keenly aware that if you failed, you forever changed the fate of hundreds of innocent lives, and the failure would be solely upon yourself.

Ada suddenly seemed very small, and very tired.

“Come along,” Hecate slid off the table and on to her feet, pulling Ada up as well. “Let’s get some rest and tackle it again with clearer heads.”

The blonde merely nodded. Hecate leaned down to gently place a kiss on Ada’s forehead as she transferred them to their rooms.

Despite the anxiety over future choices, they both fell asleep quickly. They woke again at nearly noon, the sunlight and heat coming from the bedroom window making it too uncomfortable to sleep any longer.

Still, they stayed in bed, lying side by side and staring up at the ceiling as they quietly went over a list of options and their potential outcomes, dissecting and discussing the meaning behind future Hecate’s cryptic message.

_This was the part future Hecate wouldn’t jeopardize for anything_, Ada mused. _Us, together, figuring out the problem. Being a team. Being partners, in all things, as always._

If Ada had known too much, she wouldn’t need Hecate’s help, wouldn’t be spending her morning simply laying beside her wife, talking quietly as their hands occasionally bumped against each other, fingertips brushing and curling thoughtlessly together, as easily as anemone tendrils, delicately drifting in and back out again. They wouldn’t be putting all of their faith in each other into this endeavor, all the eggs dangerously in one basket, a bit like always.

“I love you,” she said, suddenly and simply.

Even without looking over, she could feel Hecate’s blink in response as her brain recalibrated for the shift in conversation. Her hand slipped over to squeeze Ada’s as she quietly returned, “I love you, too.”

“We’re going to be alright,” Ada assured her. “We’re…happy, in the future.”

“We’re happy now,” Hecate shifted, turning her face towards Ada with a small smile. And it was true—even now, even in the fear and uncertainty, there were moments of warmth and light, moments of them, simply together, simply happy. Ada noticed the little lines around her wife's eyes, her mind already mapping out where they would deepen, adding even more expressive character to the face she loved so well.

“You age quite nicely, you know,” Ada admitted with a grin.

With a wry smirk of her own, Hecate intoned, “Good to know those virgins I sacrifice every full moon are going to pay off.”

Ada laughed at the absurdity, at her wife’s theatrical delivery of such a line. She rolled onto her side, gently nipping the curve of Hecate’s shoulder, currently bare thanks to the sleeveless cut of her summer night gown. With a happy little sound, Hecate wriggled closer, smiling as she closed her eyes.

Ada was smiling, too, even as she kissed her way up that delicious neck. As long as they still had moments like this, moments of quiet silly joy, then they would be alright, she realized.

Hecate’s hand was in Ada’s hair, tugging and gently encouraging her to continue. Her body was soft and warm, arching into Ada’s as she pulled the blonde closer. They were here and they were together, and that was all they needed.

That and just a hint of luck, Ada decided, and they’d be just fine, just fine indeed.

Ada knew this with every fiber of her being, down to the marrow of her bones. She’d seen the future, after all. And despite the uncertainty, it looked quite lovely.

The present was quite lovely, too. Hecate was smiling up at her in that syrupy warm way that never failed to make Ada’s heart skip a beat, her eyes nearly completely lost in the crinkles of her smile. She seemed so young now, so vibrant and shining.

Just a few hours ago, that face had been lined with fear. But Hecate had decided to trust her—and Ada decided to trust her future wife’s ability to know exactly what Ada needed to know, to give her exactly what she needed to ensure that all was well, in the end.

She trusted her present wife to do the same. So she pushed aside the fear and focused on the moment, only this moment.

It was nothing but joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One prompt left, chickadees. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments so far, and to everyone who contributed and made this year's Hackle Summer Trope Challenge such a thing of joy.


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